


Why Would You Go?

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, First Time, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Sometime before Master Plan where Ben and Leslie meet at The Bulge. But really, it's just some porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Would You Go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [c00kie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00kie/gifts).



To be honest, people do not understand Leslie Knope.

She is hardworking, she cares, she cares a lot. And no one understands, no one believes in her. Is it because she’s blond? A woman? Short?

It doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t. Leslie just knows some of these things to be true. That she is different, that her passion speaks too loud, like her mere presence blows out people’s eardrums. People don’t know how to digest her and end up taking a step back when she takes five steps forward.

Again, Leslie knows this. Regardless, she is proud of who she is, she loves herself, and is happy with the decisions she’s made, the projects she does, the work she puts into her job. She’s good at it, her heart is the perfect size for this thankless job. She is the perfect size to fit into a tube on a play structure to make sure everyone is having fun, she needs the right amount of sleep to do 18 hours of work a day, she can smile easily, and her handwriting is perfect for beautiful forms.

This job is perfect for her. She is perfect for this job.

Whether Ron believes in that or not is irrelevant.

But tonight isn’t about Ron and his stupid opinions that are definitely stupid and definitely wrong. It is about The Bulge and the dancing and the free drinks and the hugs and the pats on the back and all the smiles and winks and the love. Appreciation, gratitude, happiness.

For the first hour it’s just like she hopes. Her shots are free and they turn on the karaoke machine for two men to serenade her and for her to sing Lady Gaga after her third shot. She gets two glow necklaces and two more shots. She doesn’t feel that drunk, not really, but dancing feels effortless and also perfect and like her arms are made of rhythmic water and her bones rattle with beats.

This is it, this is exactly where she needs to be, how she wants to feel. Perfect, welcome, infinite.

Leslie stands at the bar while the bartender makes her a drink. She fixes her hair, wipes her fingers over her brow and along her throat where the sweat is starting to glisten. She can’t stop smiling at herself and saying thank you to anyone who so much looks at her. A man with a sparkly baseball hat grabs her hand and kisses it before continuing on to dance with a very large, muscular man. Leslie watches them dance for a moment, while she rims her glass with her thumb and puts the sugar to her lips.

“Can I have a… Cotton Candy Mouth Gasm? Good lord.”

Leslie’s thumb slides across her lower lip as she turns to the voice. A voice very uncomfortable and stiff in a usually relaxed and happy environment. She blinks and adjusts her eyes on the man next to her. His eyes find hers before she can study him, her thumb still on her mouth.

He is wearing a dark blue and red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie is gone from his neck, the tip hanging out of his pocket. The drink menu is still in his hand, lightly gripped between the squeeze of his fingers. His eyes are brown, big and gentle in vulnerability but his mouth is tight, holding the uncomfortable flare from the words of his order.

They stare at each other, Leslie’s thumb on her lips, this man’s fingers flexing against paper. His eyes search her, trying to piece something together while Leslie practically devours him. He’s handsome, sharp edged in his jaw, pointy nose and professionally tussled hair. She almost forgets where she is, that this man is probably gay and not even on her radar. Yet his eyes linger on her mouth and she feels the deep, soft heat in her stomach, dripping to her legs.

She sucks the tip of her thumb and she swears the man swallows and looks away because of it, but maybe she’s just being too forward and making him uncomfortable.

His drink plops on the bar and his eyes widen a little at the pink drink and curvy glass. He holds onto the cup and looks back to Leslie. His features soften a little in self humiliation and he leans closer to her and Leslie smells the spice of him, like he spent the day in a coffee shop but also sharpened pencils all afternoon.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

Leslie nods. He might as well asked her if she was a unicorn. She would have said yes.

“This is a gay bar,” he says, his smirk self deprecating and adorable.

“That’s not a question,” she says.

His smile grows and she sees his Adam’s apple bob in a light chuckle.

“I’m Ben and I’m not from here.”

“I’m Leslie Knope and welcome to Pawnee, the greatest town in America.”

He finally takes a sip of his drink, his eyes shifting from the pink liquid and Leslie. He rolls his lips together as he gulps.

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes falling back to the menu. “You know there is a Leslietini on the menu.”

She nods and leans closer to him, her smile taking over her entire face. “Yeah, I know. That’s me.”

“Should I order that next?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Let me.”

She orders him a Leslietini and a Shirley Temple for herself because she’s suddenly aware of how drunk she is and suddenly needs to be a lot more sober and a lot more charming. He finishes his two, sweet drinks easily while Leslie just stirs the cherry syrup and bubbling soda together.

Ben is cute, very cute. When he tells her that he’s just passing through Pawnee on his way to another Indiana town for work, his hands are moving and his brow furrows even when something he says isn’t intense enough for it. Ben tells Leslie about a gang of raccoons that followed him from his car to his hotel room and she listens with an understanding, empathetic ear. He asks her what she does for work and she says she’s forgetting about work tonight and he smiles at that, toasts to it, and she watches the muscles in his neck deliciously clench as he swallows.

“Then tell me everything else,” he says, “everything else about you.”

Ben doesn’t seem like a bold guy, even his brave words hold some kind of shyness to them but he does seem interested in her, maybe he’s even flirting. The thought makes her skin tingle and her stomach ignite in flames.

“Okay.”

She smiles, touches the tips of her hair. She flicks her eyes to the ceiling, thinking about where to start. A lot of who she is, is her work and it takes time for her to filter through the information. When she looks back to him, he’s smiling, his eyes glossed and head tilted and his body finally relaxing into the effects of the alcohol. Her cheeks are hot.

“I read a lot. I have read practically every political biography I can get my hands on, I have read the Harry Potter series in its entirety six times, and I love political thrillers. Especially the ones where there is lots of sexual intrigue.”

Her eyes widen a little and her blush goes deeper, travels down her neck and starts tickling her chest. Ben’s eyes stay on her though, listening and unaware of her embarrassment. He nods for her to keep going and her eyes wander again, thinking.

“Well, breakfast food is the best food.”

“Like what?”

Leslie turns her body toward him, her knees knocking into his thigh. He doesn’t move to give her room and she doesn’t apologize for their contact.

“Waffles, mostly, but really I will eat anything. Oh wait, not oatmeal.” She scrunches her face in disgust, imagining the terrible, grainy mush on her tongue.

Ben tilts his head and grins at her with only his lips. His eyes are soft and admiring and Leslie slowly softens her face. She leans toward him and her hands slide from her thigh to his leg and again, he lets their bodies connect.

“I actually like oatmeal,” he says, his voice somehow more husky and dark than it should be when talking about disgusting breakfast foods.

The music shifts and “Tik Tok” comes on and Leslie’s out of her stool, eyes big and bouncing on her toes. Ben’s eyes widen as she pulls on his arm.

“I love this song, dance with me!”

“Oh no, I--”

“Come on,” she yells, tightening her grip before sliding her hand up his arm.

He feels tight and lean and with this small lining of muscle that is perfect to hold onto. She pulls harder, despite his protests, and keeps telling him to come on and that it will be fun. He keeps shaking his head but he’s smiling, laughing, and the way his body leans into hers when he finally lets her take control is intoxicating.

They dance. Or she dances and Ben kind of sways and jerks uncomfortably. She tries to grab his hands and help him along but he is slightly hopeless but also slightly adorable. Leslie’s mouth hurts from smiling but she dances anyway, spins and waves her hands and shakes her hips and feels like the world turns only for her, feels like this life is perfect and that she is worth it, just like she always knew.

Leslie spins, her hands in her hair and knees bent, her hips swaying and jerking. She throws back her head and smiles up at the flashing lights and loves the way they move across her face. Her hip jerks to the right and when she swivels to the left she feels him. Just his hand, gripping her waist and pulling until her back hits his chest and she feels his uneven movements behind her.

Even though Ben is impossible to keep up with and impossible to help, she still moves against him. He tries to anchor himself by holding her waist and tries to follow her but he’s always a second behind. Leslie just leans closer to him, rests her head back on his chest, while his other hand wanders a little. It traces her hip and slides up her side and across her stomach, not rough but not too light, an exploring touch that isn’t threatening or intimidating.

His head dips low, through her hair and she feels his breath against her ear.

“I am a terrible dancer.”

He is, he really is. Leslie bites her lip and pushes from him, turning. His hand slides across her back and rests on her opposite hip.

He can’t dance but his face is so mismatched it’s perfect. His mouth is small but his lips are tilted and soft looking and they have a shine to them that makes her imagine him licking them and that makes her knees weak. His nose is pointy and his jaw is sharp and his chin square, all covered in a dark shadow of scruff that has developed in the late evening. His eyes are so round and almost too big and his hair is still meticulously messy, so purposeful in its carelessness. His body is tiny, lean with muscle but not the hard or big kind, the kind that just lines bones to give the body shape.

And his hands, his hands are so big, they cover the side of her waist effortlessly. She remembers being so much smaller when she was younger, back when her metabolism beat whipped cream and bacon without the least bit of effort. Then, boys’ hands always devoured her, covered so much of her skin with a wide palm and stretched fingers. That was a distant memory until Ben. She felt so little again, not in a vain way that made her crave her size 2 pants, but in a way that makes her core heat and limbs numb and mouth dry. In a way that makes her feel wanted and tingly.

She shakes her hip to the right and once to the left before smashing their bodies together, blaming rhythm and his misguided dance steps for their closeness. Not that it matters, he doesn’t step back and his hold only grows tighter. Ben stops trying to dance and just kind of sways as if the song calls for something more slow and intimate even though the beat is fast and pushes into Leslie’s feet and vibrates her body. But she follows his cue and slows her own movements and slides her hands up his chest and around his neck. The hair at the nape of his neck is soft and short against her fingers.

He leans forward, past her lips, her cheek, and nestles his lips at her ear.

“I think I’m drunk.”

She laughs because he’s only had two drinks but she understands what he means. Leslie understands the warm, numb feeling traveling to every limb and tingling in her fingers and toes. She understands the dizziness that whips around her, causing the floor to tilt and the room to go in and out of focus. She understands how his smell wraps around her senses and makes her hold on him tighten and makes her silently beg for his lips to dip lower and touch her neck, touch her cheek, touch her anything.

Ben doesn’t kiss any part of her, though. Instead, he pulls from her gently and reaches up for her hands on his neck and guides them down to her own sides and lets them go, his eyes carefully watching his movements. As if he regrets their disconnect, he puts his palms on the top of her hands and smooths them up her forearm, her biceps, ghosting over her shoulders until both of his large, overwhelming hands are nestled against her neck, fingers lacing through her hair.

Leslie isn’t sure she is even breathing, just inhaling the smell of sugar and coffee from Ben and exhaling the smoke from the flames he starts inside her. He’s still not looking at her, not at her eyes. He’s still staring at her hands where he left them next to each of her thighs. She rolls her thumb and her forefinger of her right hand together to ease some of the tension he’s created.

His thumb slides across the edge of her jaw as he blinks, opening his eyes with his gaze hot and intense on hers. She can feel his chest expand and deflate against her.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, still with the unsure tint to his voice but it isn’t a question.

Leslie’s relief trails across her face in a faint smile and she swallows so she can tell him please, to tell him it’s okay, to beg him to do it, but he captures her lips before she can.

Stars are bright against her eyelids and music curses deeper through her and she’s on fire and liquid all at once. Ben’s kiss is soft but full, keeping her useless and still against him. Her arms can’t find a reason to move and she’s thankful her heart pumps on its own because she can’t think about anything else. Just Ben’s lips on hers, his chest rising against her, his fingers pressing into her neck, her jaw, her hair. Every part of him that touches her ignites her, plants her, steadies her, while also casting spell on her that allows her to float. Ben is a contradiction of feelings that meld together into understanding.

Before he deepens the kiss and before Leslie can respond to him, he pulls away. Her eyes flutter open as she exhales, letting go of every tension that laced through her muscles and every problem that etched itself into her brain. His forehead rests against hers and when she looks up to find his eyes, they are downcast, watching her lips maybe, or watching her chest rise and fall.

“I might not be drunk,” he says.

Leslie smiles, one soft giggle rippling through her throat. Somehow her laughter awakens her and her arms find movement again, her hands trailing around his waist, joining at his back.

She pushes on her toes and takes his lips. He moans against her mouth, vibrating her bones and melting everything inside of her. His hands push up her neck and take her hair, tangling and weaving through his fingers. She pushes closer and he pulls until his lips finally part and she swallows him.

He tastes like the sweet bitterness of alcohol but the sugar of his drinks is still there on the slide of his tongue and the smooth, plump round of his lips. Ben steps forward as if there is any space left between them and she trips backwards, their feet fighting to gain balance and their lips battling between smiling and kissing. Their teeth bump and Leslie pulls away, embarrassed, but Ben pulls her in again and erases everything that seems unsure and rewrites it to be absolute.

Ben doesn’t kiss like a man whose words are sometimes unsure or shy or like a man who doesn’t find the rhythm in music. He kisses with assurance and his lips caress hers in a fine beat that is fast but easy to follow, a guide that doesn’t ask for dominance but simply makes it so. It doesn’t matter, she wouldn’t shift the easy dynamic between them now, not when everything is exactly like she wanted this night to be, free of worry and full of grateful admiration.

Someone bumps into Leslie’s shoulder and they stumble, breaking apart. A man turns to her and puts his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Leslie.”

“It’s okay,” she says, nodding more than she needs to.

“Really, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really, thank you.”

The man looks at Ben, trails his eyes down his little body and up again, shifting his gaze back to Leslie.

“Get it, girl.”

Leslie laughs, full of nerves and hope.

Then the man steps up to Ben and shifts two fingers between his eyes and Ben’s.

“Do not hurt her.”

“I w-wont.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m not going to.”

The man eyes Ben again before walking away. Ben shivers and Leslie tries to hide her smile and casually takes a step away from him.

“I’m really not going to hurt you,” Ben says, looking over his shoulder at the retreating threat. “Everyone really does know you here.”

“Yes, I’m kind of a gay hero.”

Ben grins, lopsided, goofy, and loving all twisted into one smirk.

“How’d you manage that?”

“I put on a wedding for two penguins at the zoo last year and turns out they were both boys.”

“A penguin wedding, that’s cute.” He steps closer to her and leans in, kissing her gently, practically a faint whisper of a kiss, on her lips. “I should probably go, I just, this… you, this is great, you are great, I just don’t know--”

“Why would you go?” Did the gays scare him? Was Ben like every other disaster in her life, a man who seemed perfect and adorable and kissed like a angelic demon, only to ditch her in the end for a reason she could never understand? “I mean, I don’t want you to go.”

His hand slides into hers and he grips, hard, almost painful. He bends his knees and leans back, his eyes on the ceiling, contemplating something.

“I’m sure that guy wasn’t serious, Ben.”

“I know, I know. “ He moves in again and his forehead finds hers and one hand is back in her hair. “But I want you.”

She hums and her chest swirls in scorching heat that melts down to her stomach. She falls into him, flattens her front to his and he holds on to her, his hands exploring her again as if the pressure of her body on his gives him the strength.

Leslie reaches up to the first button of his shirt and undoes it with shaky fingers and then pulls him closer to her, so her lips can be near his ear.

“I want you, too.”

With her lips rounded and pursed with her last word, she kisses his earlobe and Ben turns into an animal.

He digs into her, his fingers clenching and hands roaming in a rough pattern around her body, over her ass, across her hips and along her chest. He smashes his lips on hers, opens her mouth and doesn’t ask for entrance but demands it. He growls and moans and his exhales are shaky and his inhales sharp. Leslie just holds on, allows him to take over, allows his need to outweigh everything because he feels good and his touch is rough but it gives her power and she’s just swallowing it, devouring it, absorbing it and it is fueling them both.

Ben tries to get closer to her again and they stumble backwards, steps and steps until she doesnt know where she is and the music feels muffled. Ben clamps his lips to her neck and bites the flesh just enough and she gasps and whimpers and then her back hits something hard.

A door. The ladies room door.

He puts both hands above her head, pressing his palms into the wood and grinds into her. His mouth finds hers again and they stay there, against the door with the heat of Ben’s body on her front and the unforgiving door on her back. He grinds against her again and she moans along his lips and he parts them, exploring her mouth.

Leslie hot, she’s burning and she is on fire and it’s hard to breathe. As if he can feel it he moves from her, gives her body some of the cooler chill of the room instead of the scorching heat from him. He puts his forehead on her shoulder and trails his touch down her chest and over her stomach and she has never wished to be naked as much as she does now.

His hand goes lower, tucks itself under her blouse and traces a line right above the waistband of her slacks. She’s grateful for the door behind her to lean on because she can’t tell which direction is up.

His hand is still so big, practically covering her entire stomach. She feels each press of each finger and the warmth beneath his palm. She pushes up on her tiptoes, moving his fingers lower and he moves his mouth back to her neck and muffles his groan against her skin.

His fingers dig into her flesh one by one so he can slide under her pants. His fingers catch on the top of her panties and she inhales, flattens her stomach so he can go farther. Ben grins, his teeth scraping her neck. He pushes down, teasing her, rubbing the fabric just close enough but not where she needs him to be.

Ben traces her, finally, slowly over her crease and along the edges of her panties where they meet her legs. She wiggles under his touch. He goes over her again, slower but rougher and she slinks a leg around one of his to give him better access. He growls at the invitation and digs a finger under the soft cotton but it doesn’t move, only pushes on her skin.

“We should go,” he whispers. It’s low and wanting and like he hasn’t taken a breath in years.

“Yes.”

Leslie buttons her pants and Ben grabs her hand and hurries down the hall they managed to get down and back to the bar. She makes Ben wait to pay for her tab even though he begs her that they can come back tomorrow and do it. She pays for his drinks to get him to stop talking and grabs her coat and purse from the hook below and they run again, laughing like they’re 16.

Ben opens the cab door for her and she springs in and he follows, taking a deep breath when he sits back against the old leather. He tells the cab driver to go to the Pawnee Super Suites and Leslie straddles Ben’s lap, tossing a twenty to the front seat before the driver can complain.

She feels him then, hard and wanting between her legs. She grinds against his length, savors each motion against him and bump on the road to guide her. Ben groans and holds on to her hips, tries to thrust up and pull her down for more friction. Groans are swallowed and tongues are slow and hungry.

The Super Suites isn’t far, probably why Ben came to The Bulge in the first place. Ben throws money at the driver, probably too much, and leads her out of the car. They step into the lobby, go down the hall, past the soda machine and into the elevator. When the doors close, Ben pushes her against the wall and kisses her. He dips down, kissing over her cheek, down her jawline and across her throat, inching his way into the top of her blouse. His fingers graze the straps of her bra and he pulls on one with his forefinger, the snap against her skin loud and echoing with his growl.

The doors spring open and he grabs her hand and pulls her down another hallway to room 303. He slides the card key in and when it clicks, Leslie feels the last few hours finally catch up with her.

She met some traveling man in a bar and now she is at his hotel room where they are definitely going to have sex. Great sex, too, if the way he kisses is any indicator. Her stomach pools with wanting heat while her head spins.

“What did you say you did for a living?” she asks, letting him pull her inside.

He clicks on a light, a faint glow from a desk lamp. He walks back to her and kisses her cheek, her forehead, her nose, like suddenly he is a gentleman.

“I work for the state.”

She sighs and plays with the fabric of his untucked shirt.

“Doing what?”

“I’m a budget auditor.”

He works on the buttons of her blouse and traces delicate lines across her exposed stomach, over her breasts and to her shoulders. Ben pushes the shirt down her arms and it pools at her feet.

He cups her face and kisses her and asks against her lips, “What do you do?”

He kisses lower, over her collarbone and along the top of each breast. His nose tickles and his lips are soft. His hair rubs her chin.

“I’m” -- she sighs -- “I’m the Deputy Director of the Parks and Recreation Department of Pawnee, Indiana.”

His chuckle is low and in his chest, his teeth sharp on her skin. Ben unhooks her pants again and slides them over her hips but doesn’t push further, just kneads the newly exposed skin. He kisses lower, between her breasts and down her stomach and her hands find purchase in his hair. She thinks he’s going to drop to his knees and the thought makes her entire being want to crumble.

But he doesn’t. He wraps his arms under her ass and picks her up, his tiny, lean body, lifts her, his face in her breasts and her arms flailing until they wrap around his neck. She lets out a high pitched giggle and he clumsily kisses her breast before taking the few steps to the bed and dropping her on it.

He unbuttons his shirt and Leslie feels exposed and ridiculous on his bed, in her underwear that is mismatched and nowhere near sexy enough for this random one night stand. Her panties are just yellow cotton hipsters with pink polka dots. Her bra is modest and a pale blue. Ben shrugs off his shirt and tugs the white undershirt over his head, toes off his shoes and crawls up the bed, over her body, leaving kisses and traces of his tongue in his wake.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and kisses her mouth.

Leslie arches her back, trying to get closer to him but when he never gets close enough, she just turns their bodies, pushing him on his back, straddling his lap. His hands push up her back and unclasp her bra and he throws it aside. He palms her breasts and rubs his thumbs over her nipples before dipping his hands back to her waist and over her ass, pulling her closer, craving the friction between them.

She rolls her hips and sits up, Ben’s hand immediately over her breast. He rolls her nipple between his fingers while she tries to concentrate on his belt and the clasp of his pants. It’s hard, his hand is so big and overwhelming on her pale skin and she can still feel his length against her and his fingers wont stop moving and the sighs and moans just roll out of her mouth. She feels dizzy and frantic but calm with waves of pleasure and the last thing she can do is undo a belt and unzip a pair of pants.

Ben pushes off the mattress and dips his head low and kisses her chest. Soft, gentle pecks across the sensitive flesh.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Fine.”

He rolls her on to her back and she gasps and blinks a few times to get her bearings. Ben stays upright and tickles the skin on her thighs, waiting.

Leslie did get his belt undone, but she isn’t finished. She reaches forward and undoes the button and unzips his pants and flattens her palm against his boxers, right over his hard dick and traces him with her fingers. He shakes and whispers her name and she pushes everything down to his bent knees and he’s exposed, long and hard and amazing.

She leans forward and kisses the bone of his hip, his dick against her collarbone. She moves away and does the same to his other hip and Ben tangles his hand in her hair, tightening his hold but never guiding her.

Ben slides down the bed and stands, his pants falling the rest of the way down. He takes off his socks and steps out of his pants and then stands straight and Leslie marvels at the sight of him. So small and pointy looking, lean and sharp edged. His hipbones are begging for her teeth and his chest needs her nails. His hair is still a mess but this time it holds purpose, it holds the secrets in this room and the want in her bones.

He looks down as if he can feel her gaze all over him and when his eyes connect with hers, he’s almost bashful, as if there’s a red tint to this cheeks. He swallows and puts a hand through his hair and over his neck and then he motions for her to come to him, two fingers beckoning her with eyes that demand it.

The bed squeaks as she crawls across it and she stops at the foot of the bed, her knees digging into the hard mattress and her arms at her sides. Ben steps closer and their bodies connect. He kisses her cheek and her neck and keeps his lips there, sucking and rolling his tongue over a spot she didn’t know anyone who knew her so little could discover. She tilts her head, gives him more access, and he pushes his hand over her stomach and under her polka dot underwear.

Leslie gasps and grabs his shoulders as he smooths over her clit. He goes lower and she whimpers but he stops and runs his fingers back up to her clit and gives it one circle before going down again and curling up and inside her.

She gasps and grips. He’s slow. He pushes into her and pulls out in delicious strokes. She widens her thighs and shakes and pants with the anticipation and want for him to move faster.

He pulls out of her and pushes in again with one more finger and the stretch is almost enough, it definitely gives her the boost to moan his name. He groans in response and she bites his shoulder.

Ben moves faster and Leslie rocks against his hand, his palm gently hitting her clit with every thrust. Her hand travels down his shoulder, feels the flex in his arm as he moves inside her and wraps her fingers around his cock. He lets out a shaky breath and his head falls forward and he watches her stroke him. He’s hard and his skin is soft and rubbing over him is so beautiful she could be here forever.

They rock against each other’s hands and breathe and gasp and their names trickle out of mouths and Leslie feels dizzy and lost but as if there’s nowhere else to be. It’s slow and so intimate for what they are but she likes this moment, this pause, because when this breaks she knows they will both unwind into something more intense.

Ben’s face scoops under hers and he takes her lips with his, moving faster. She matches his rhythm and their lips struggle to stay connected despite the need to breathe, to moan, to say something. Ben mumbles, “Fuck,” along her tongue and she misses his mouth to kiss him again after begging him to go, “Faster.”

His fingers slip out of her, over her clit and across her hip. He snaps her underwear and wipes his fingers on the cotton.

“Lie down.”

He pushes a little on her hip and she sways before slipping her feet from under her and leaning back, tugging her underwear down. He follows her and grabs her hand.

“I’ll get that.”

Leslie’s mouth rounds in a silent “oh” and she arches an eyebrow as she moves backwards. She lands on her back and bites her lip as Ben loops his thumbs in the sides of her panties and slips them down her legs. He tosses them behind his head and walks around the bed to his suitcase. Leslie hears zippers as she studies his ass and he unwraps a condom and she watches as he pulls it over his cock in simple strokes. Once it is on, he gives himself three more strokes for the fuck of it and it makes Leslie’s insides burn.

Ben crawls back up her body and nestles himself between her legs, kissing her lips. He smooths the hair from her face with soft fingers. His hips move above her, sliding his dick along her opening, grazing her clit and moving at the crease of her thighs. He adjusts and kisses her forehead and buries his face in her neck, delivering hot, wet, messy kisses along the skin. Leslie runs her nails down his back and grips his ass and his back contracts at her touch and he shakes on top of her. He angles himself again and his tip is at her opening, perfect, and she’s wet and wanting and all he has to do is...

Push.

Leslie gasps and Ben groans and it shakes them both from the inside out. He pulls out and pushes into her again, just as slow and beautiful as his fingers. They breathe together and she pushes her lips to him for a kiss and he lets her but only for a moment.

He smooths her hair back again, lacing his fingers in her locks. “Are you okay?”

Unable to form words, Leslie nods, hoping he understands. He growls again, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers grip her hair and pull as he thrusts back into her, so hard and fast she comes off the bed.

She tries to hold on, to keep up, but he’s so fast and his cock is so deep and she can’t keep her breaths up and her vision is fuzzing around the edges. She lets her eyelids drop and sees stars behind them, white sparks igniting every time he pushes into her again. He angles his hips higher and he starts to hit a spot inside her that makes her string words of incoherence together in breathy whispers.

Ben is just a mess of groans and her name but each time, “Leslie,” trickles out of his mouth she feels the heat from his breath and the rumble from his throat and she whimpers in response, unable to even form his name in response. He reaches behind him and grabs her leg and pushes it up to his hip and she wraps both legs around him and he’s so deep now she feels like she’s being pleasantly torn in two.

Heat circulates between them and their bodies are perspiring and the added sweat and slickness makes her groan, louder and louder. Ben’s body starts to tire so he slows, but each thrust is still as deep, still makes her ache and shake with each move of his hips. The nape of his neck is wet with sweat and he smells like musk and deodorant and she can still smell the faint hint of coffee on his skin.

She pulls him close and they’re so hot and sticky but she can’t imagine him any farther. He breathes into her neck, along her hair, his lips clumsy and sloppy anywhere they can touch. Slowly, his speed builds again and her arms fall back on the pillows.

Leslie finally lets his name go in a husky whisper and when he groans in response, his teeth on her neck, she tries again and this gains her a soft bite. Electricity surges through her veins and she eggs him on further, tilting her head and exposing her neck with a shout of his name that grants her his sinking teeth into her flesh that makes her muscles shudder and her skin tear.

Ben nudges her chin up with his nose and kisses her throat, slinking his hands up her arms and into her palms. He presses down on her hands and pistons into her, her cunt wet and almost sore but nothing, nothing would make her stop him right now.

She tests him, moving her hand, but he holds on harder and she smiles, inching up to take his bottom lip between her teeth. He growls and captures her mouth. She feels the sweat in his hair and between their palms, where her thighs rub on his hips and where her heels dig in his back.

It’s so hot and messy and fucking exhilarating.

If she went out tonight to forget everything, she didn’t know she would be drained completely, void of anything but her body with Ben’s body and their sweat and juices mixing in complete awe.

Ben releases her hands and sits up on his knees, their bodies still connected. Her arms are numb so she lets them stay above her head and takes him in. He pushes her ass up so the angle is just how she needs, just how she wants, and he thrusts in her again. Her back arches and the angle is somehow better and she sees him buckle a little. He’s getting close, this position is just as deep for him as it is for her. She squeezes around him and he groans.

“Good Lord.” His head bobs forward and he flicks his sweaty hair off his forehead. “Leslie, you--mm, fuck.”

The push of his fingers on her hips might leave marks but she doesn’t focus on that, she focuses on the way his face falls when she clenches around him or when she angles her hips a certain way. She watches his face concentrate and watch hers and she marvels at the immediate comfort she finds in his dark eyes.

His rhythm becomes sloppier but his cock still hits her beautifully but she can see the edge to his movements and the fatigue in his body. His chest, sporadically lined with dark hairs, is glistening in sweat and where their bodies connect is damp and his hip bones are a little red from friction. She feels sensitive and close but nothing that will make her topple, not that she doesn’t enjoy every moment of this. Leslie loves it.

Ben leans forward with a shaky sigh and the stillness of his hips is startling. She catches her breath and waits, watching. He kisses her forehead and grabs her right hand with his left. He sits back up, taking her hand with him and slides it over her breast, over her hard nipple, down the soft, sticky skin of her stomach, and to her clit. He pushes two of her fingers and guides them in a circle over herself and they both exhale.

His fingers slowly leave her alone, to her own rhythm and movements that she knows better than he does. Ben starts again, thrusting inside of her and her fingers work fast to keep up with his pace. He’s telling her he’s close and holding on is starting to be hard, almost impossible.

He watches her, devours her face, her bouncing breasts, her fingers working over her clit. He tells her she’s beautiful, that she’s sexy, that her pussy feels amazing and each punch of his words makes her squirm, or groan, or scream his name.

They egg each other on, both falling victim to each other’s words, to the angles of their hips, to wandering hands and eyes. Leslie circles faster, feels the heat travel up her legs, shake her knees, and into her center and she clenches around him, to feel more, to feel it harder and better.

“Ben,” she groans.

“Leslie,” he pants.

Leslie’s body shakes and she lets her orgasm crest and it pulses through her, puts spots behind her eyelids and spasms her muscles and bursts heat through her torso, down her arms and legs and into the grip of her fingers. She tries to catch her breath but Ben doesn’t slow down, Ben doesn’t give her time to recover, only climbs and falls, too, until their in a sweaty, hot, tangled heap in the middle of the bed.

They don’t speak. Leslie is still shaking from her orgasm, her arm across Ben’s chest and her legs tangled around his. Ben’s flat, soft belly rises and falls in calming breaths, his hand stuck in his hair while the other lightly traces lines on her back. She whimpers when he pulls away to take care of the condom and Leslie is left to shake and grip the sheets.

When Ben returns, he turns off the desk lamp and crawls into bed, snaking the covers up to their knees, both too hot to actually cover themselves. Leslie wonders if she should leave, if this is the part when the magic of this night ends and she leaves the bed, leaves this man’s life, forever.

She doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to leave this bed, doesn’t want to forget the way he connects with her, or how his kiss feels, or the way he smells. She wants to see his face come undone a million times but also wants to see what color his hair is in the Spring sun. If they stayed in one night, would he read a book or go on the computer? Does he like documentaries or blockbuster action films? It suddenly is important that she knows everything.

He turns and tangles their legs together and pushes their chests together. He kisses her cheek over and over and rubs his nose into her face and hums and she giggles, her whole body feather light.

They kiss quick.

“Um,” she says, clearing her throat. “Should I go?”

Ben pushes back from her face a little and smooths her hair back again, a gesture she could get used to, or maybe already has.

“Why would you go?”

She can almost make out his dumbfounded face in the dark.

“Isn’t that what happens next?”

Ben shrugs and she shrugs and they giggle into their kiss.

Leslie doesn’t remember falling asleep but she is waking. Ben is asleep, one arm draped over her hip. He’s snorting softly, a cute sound that makes her snuggle deeper before pulling away.

She gets dressed and tries to flatten her hair. She thinks about waking him a million times and resolves to kiss him on the cheek and if he wakes, he wakes.

He doesn’t, doesn’t even move. Disappointment clouds her chest but she moves on, committed to her promise. She grabs his phone and puts her number in the contacts, trying her best to avoid the list of names, scared to find descriptive words in lieu of names for the many women he’s slept with.

When she steps into her bedroom, a towel wrapped on her head and the hot water still glistening on her skin, her phone beeps. She grabs it and sits on her bed, trying desperately hard to bite back a smile.

On the screen is a picture of her polka dot panties, smoothed out and perfectly displayed on the corner of a familiar hotel bed.

_Forget something?_

Leslie taps on the screen and presses send, throwing her phone on the bed on her way to her closet.

_You can give them back to me next time. We both know that wasn’t a one time thing._

When she grabs her phone to leave for work, she admits she’s nervous. She’s a bold girl, but not usually when it comes to men. She slides her phone open as she locks her door and rushes to her car, nervous, cold heat traveling through her.

_It definitely wasn’t. But no goodbye? Are you a heartbreaker? Good thing I know where you work. Goodbye is scheduled today at 9AM in front of Pawnee City Hall. I’ll be the guy with the waffles._


End file.
